


flos feretrum

by handydandynotebook



Series: primis tenebris flos [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Billy Hargrove Being an Asshole, Billy Hargrove Lives, Gen, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Major Character Injury, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Season/Series 03, Relationship Study, Strained Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26131060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/handydandynotebook/pseuds/handydandynotebook
Summary: Billy sighs out and slumps, arm sliding a little farther down Susan’s shoulders. Susan peeks at him dubiously. She feels like she should ask if he’s in pain, but figures he’d more or less just tell her to shut up again. She’s actually a tad surprised he’s still leaning on her but perhaps that says everything. Chances are, if he didn’t have to, he wouldn’t.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove & Susan Hargrove
Series: primis tenebris flos [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1897387
Comments: 8
Kudos: 55





	flos feretrum

**Author's Note:**

> part 2

“Why are you here again?” is what she’s greeted with, Billy exasperated, eyes like flint. “Shouldn’t you be at work or something?”   
  
Susan stirs the cream into her coffee with the thin plastic straw, steam rising and puffing warm against her skin as she exhales through her nose. 

“Shit, don’t tell me you got fired.” 

“No, I took some time off. A week, to be exact.” Susan sips her coffee and leaves out the part where she’d done so under the impression she’d probably have to plan and arrange a funeral, as that was an affair she surely couldn’t trust to Neil.

“Well, bully for you,” he mutters. “Why don’t you go get your nails done, or catch up on laundry, or whatever it is you do…”

Susan seats herself and crosses her ankles. “I told you yesterday, I’m trying to—“ 

“Help, sure, whatever,” he sneers, swatting a hand. “Mother Susan, patron saint of sucking up and soggy egg salad sandwiches.” 

Susan flinches, grip clenching tighter on her coffee cup. She won't challenge him. She takes it from Neil, she can take it from Billy too. 

“We’re not going to be best friends just because you want to kiss my ass for doing something you don’t even understand at all, or because I was bored enough to help you with your stupid puzzle book,” he tells her, cutting and cold. “That’s not happening.” 

Susan knows that, of course. She was hoping yesterday might have been a step in the right direction, but she isn’t so naive that she thought one decent afternoon together would alter their entire relationship. Or lack thereof. 

But she also doesn’t plan on leaving and she’s pretty sure she isn’t the only thing he’s frustrated with. Susan wants to hope she isn’t even the thing that necessarily set him off, that she’s just a convenient target for frustration that was already there. It’s not hard to pinpoint the likely reason why he’s in a particularly testy mood today. 

“They told me you fell,” she says quietly. “Popped some of your stitches.” 

Billy huffs an irritable sound and narrows his eyes. “So what.” 

“That must’ve hurt.” 

“I’m loaded with morphine.” 

Susan doesn’t think that’s an answer but then, she didn’t actually ask a question. 

“I just don’t understand why you didn’t wait for help,” she hums, fidgeting, sitting up straighter and rubbing her thumb along the seam in the paper cup. 

It’s important to get him up and around, Susan’s been told. For things like improving blood flow and assorted medical advantages she didn’t completely understand. But she’s also been told that’s something he shouldn’t attempt alone and evidently almost as soon as the chest tube was removed, that’s exactly what he did. 

“And I don’t understand why you’re still here,” he grunts back.

“Well, you hurt yourself while you were alone, so I guess I’m here because you shouldn’t be alone,” she settles on, though of course she’d be here whether he fell or not. 

Neil told he she didn’t have to come. Even suggested she go back to work once it seemed safe enough to say that wasn’t going to be any imminent visit from the Grim Reaper after all. She’d mildly told him that she didn’t want to take the shifts away from Claudette now, didn’t want to revoke the extra hours from her pay. Neil had just nodded, accepting that without much reaction one way or the other. 

Neil wouldn’t understand why she feels like she can’t leave Billy by himself in an empty room with sterile white walls and cold white floors, the scent of antiseptic always sharp in the air. There is nothing inside Neil that could comprehend that. And it’s not like Susan believes she has some high horse to mount, after all, she isn’t proud to admit it, but she knows if there would be…if there would be _consequences_ for her visiting, she wouldn’t. 

But Neil doesn’t care one way or the other and Billy can’t actually make her leave, so. Here she is. 

“That’s rich,” he snorts. “Whatever. Not the first time I’ve fallen on my ass, I’ll get over it.” 

“Still, you should’ve asked for help.” 

“Know what, you’re right. Maybe they would’ve sent in Nurse Bombshell.” 

Susan knows exactly who he’s talking about. She’s watched her take his vitals, spoken to her several times. Susan doesn’t remember her name, only that it starts with a K or a C and she’s a very pleasant woman by all accounts, sweet smile, honey blonde and exceptionally voluptuous with breasts as big as ripe watermelons near bursting out of her scrubs. She also appeared to be at least 35. 

“Oh, Billy, that woman is closer to my age…” 

“Anybody ever told you MILFs give the best head?” 

Susan chokes on her coffee. She splutters, some of it spraying from her lips as he outright cackles at her expense. The cackling ends with a pained hitch of breath and a flash of something across his face that would fish pity out of Susan if she weren’t too busy fishing tissues out of her purse instead. She carefully dabs at her mouth and chin, trying not to smear her lipstick. 

“That’s rather inappropriate…” 

To say the least. Neil would put him in a chokehold for talking to her like that. 

“You wound me, Susan,” he deadpans with possibly the same thought in mind. 

There is a long uncomfortable moment where he’s just fixing her with an unflinching stare she doesn’t quite know what to make of. Maybe it’s some kind of challenge or maybe he’s just measuring her up and Susan— well, she’s always been too nervous to hold her own in staring contests. 

She looks at her lap instead and picks a few fuzzy balls of lint from her pants. His comment keeps needling at her not only because it was crude, but because distantly, uneasily, Susan wonders if chasing after older women is something Billy does in his spare time. Hopefully not, probably he’s just trying to rile her up or get her to leave, but the thing is, she doesn’t actually have the faintest clue what Billy does when he’s not home. Where he goes, who he hangs out with, what girls he pursues, or boys— boys is certainly something Susan’s suspected with the particular way he flinches whenever Neil hurls a hate-filled _faggot_ at him. 

Susan isn’t familiar with Billy’s company but she is familiar with his flinches. She can’t flee the room fast enough to escape familiarity with those. 

It’s his flinches she’s thinking about, picturing in her mind’s eye when she lifts her gaze again. Billy’s looked away, messing around with the remote for the television in the corner. 

“Oh, did they fix that?” 

“It wasn’t broken.” Billy pops the plastic piece off the back and idly rolls the batteries between his fingers. “I just didn’t turn it on. The quiet was pretty nice at first.” 

“But you’re starting to feel restless?” she guesses. 

Billy shrugs, slipping the batteries back into place. “I mean, yeah. It’s been three days.” 

“Five,” Susan corrects gently, inclining her head. 

“Say again?” 

“Billy, you’ve been here five days.” 

He jerks up at that, blue eyes bright with astonishment. “You’re screwing with me.” 

“N-No.” Susan’s hands flutter and she swallows uneasily. “Although you were so out of it, I’m honestly not surprised if you don’t remember the first two.” 

“Five days,” he repeats, rubbing a hand over his face. “Well, fuck me.” 

Susan chews her lip. She really wishes he’d stop cursing, but at least he isn’t raising his voice. Billy’s nearly as scary as Neil when he does that, albeit it doesn’t often happen anymore. Especially not if Neil’s around to punish him for it. 

“I really need to get up.” 

“Okay, I’ll go ask— wait, Billy, wait a minute,” Susan stammers, pulse racing with alarm as he shifts his legs over the side of the bed. 

Her words are ignored as he begins to heft himself up, one hand braced on the mattress, the other seizing the IV pole so forcefully, the pouch goes swinging. Susan gets up and scrambles around to the other side of the bed. Reaches her stepson just as he stumbles, hastily grabs for him and finds herself staggering when his bulk awkwardly knocks into her. 

For one painstaking moment Susan’s sure she’s going crash to the floor, and that Billy’s going to topple over her and crush her into the tile. But she plants her feet as she holds fast to him and between using her and the pole for support, Billy seems to get his bearings. The fall she dreads doesn’t happen. Billy catches his breath leaning against her shoulder and Susan steadies herself, shuffling sideways to accommodate his weight more evenly and charily securing an arm around his waist. 

He leans on her but he isn’t looking at her, at anything, seems subdued by the shock. 

“You okay?” she asks quietly. 

“Peachy fucking keen,” he mumbles without much real edge. 

Susan worries he might throw up. He looks a lot like how he looked yesterday before he threw up. Ghoulishly pale, jaw clenched. 

“Are you—“ 

“Can you not talk for like, ten seconds?” Billy squeezes his eyes shut. 

Susan obliges, giving him a moment. He’s got a dense, powerful physique but he’s not putting more weight on her than she can handle. She can feel bandages layered under the thin material of the gown. She hopes she isn’t pressing too hard on his wounds, but there’s no risk free place to grip Billy. He’d had more holes in him than a package of Swiss cheese, his whole torso is this grisly needlepoint embroidery of stitches upon stitches in tender flesh, and then there’s the plastic pouch her hand grips just a few precarious inches above. 

His throat bobs with a gulp— a thick one, and the discomfort twisted on his face makes Susan wonder if he did in fact, throw up. If he just chose to swallow it because the wastebasket is on the opposite side of the room. She doesn't ask, one way or the other. Remains quiet and waits. 

Eventually Billy sighs out and slumps, arm sliding a little farther down Susan’s shoulders. Susan peeks at him dubiously. She feels like she should ask if he’s in pain, but figures he’d more or less just tell her to shut up again. She’s actually a tad surprised he’s still leaning on her but perhaps that says everything. Chances are, if he didn’t have to, he wouldn’t. 

“Goddamn,” he grumbles. “Feel like a fucking geriatric.” 

“I’m sure it’s hard to take things slow while you’re healing, but you’re alive,” Susan says, trying to sound encouraging. “There’s something to be said for that, right?” 

“Oh, you want me to be grateful?” 

“No, I’m the one who’s grateful— I want you to be okay.” 

And Billy stares at her as if it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. 

“I don’t hate you, Billy,” Susan murmurs warily. “I hope you don’t hate me.” 

“No.” 

Susan exhales a sigh of relief. 

“You don’t matter enough.” 

_Oh._

Her premature relief is squashed. She feels herself deflate and tucks her chin down, lowering her gaze to the cracks between the tile. She supposes she deserves that. She thinks if their positions were reversed, this would be the part where he would drop her on the floor. And she could, she could duck out from under his arm, send him sprawling. 

She pushes the thought out of her head and curls her other hand around his wrist to anchor the arm slung over her shoulders, making sure he’s as steady as he can be. 

“So you’re feeling up for a walk?” 

Billy blinks at her in surprise. After a moment, he slowly bobs his head. 

“Okay, let’s take a walk,” she murmurs. 

It’s rather wayward at first. For the second time the fear he’s going to fall on her flickers through Susan’s mind. But it’s brief. Billy is shaky but he maintains his balance and they go slow, at a manageable, if a bit clumsy, shuffling pace down the hall. It’s quiet, mostly empty aside from some personnel marching around like worker ants with clipboards in hand. 

Billy churlishly tugs the IV along and Susan keeps a firm grip on him. Does her best to be a dependable human crutch, matching her steps to his. Keeps sending sideways looks at Billy to make sure he he’s holding up okay. She doesn’t actually trust him to tell her when it’s too much. Truth be told, she doesn't think he even knows his own limits. 

His mass is solid against her side, body heat a bit stifling with the close proximity. She also becomes acutely aware he could use a shower. That stale, sweaty smell emanating off of him. She’d venture a guess that it’ll be awhile before showering’s an option though, supposes it’ll probably just be sponge baths for the time being. But whose responsibility is that? Family or staff? 

Neil would never do that. Susan certainly couldn’t. She supposes he’d flirt if that shapely nurse got assigned the task, and that idea doesn’t sit well with her at all. It’s just not appropriate. Makes her skin crawl even if it’s technically legal, as Billy is eighteen, or…or nineteen? 

They don’t celebrate his birthday so Susan isn’t actually sure. It’s horrible but it’s true. They’ve been apart of the same household for most of Max’s life and she doesn’t actually remember what number his last birthday had on it. 

There’s a lot she doesn’t know about Billy. What he does whenever he’s out and about, his exact age, whatever it was that prompted him to be protective, or whatever’s going through his head now as he shuffles awkwardly beside her. 

Susan knows Billy and she doesn’t. She’s familiar with the parts she doesn’t want to be, like the flinches, and the shudders of suppressed sobs. How the way those wrack his frame is always a little different than the way rage quivers through it when he’s biting his tongue and how she can tell when one turns into the other. How once she notices either, it’s past time to leave the room. 

She’s not at all familiar with the things that should matter if they were actually family in any idyllic sense of the word. Most of the time Susan tries not to think about that. Redirects her attention whenever those uncomfortable thoughts surface. Seeks to distract herself with other things, burying her reservations and misgivings under grocery lists and vacuuming furniture. 

They’ve almost made a full trip around the floor before Billy starts to starts to flag and all things considered, Susan is impressed. But once the perspiration breaks out on his brow, it happens pretty fast. His weight sinks heavier over Susan’s shoulders and his steps get sluggish, less coordinated. 

“Let’s go back, hm?” she suggests gently. 

“Wipe that stupid pitying look off your face. I could still take that guy if I had to,” he mutters, nodding down the hall at a rather robustly muscular orderly as broad as any pro-football player. 

Susan sighs warily. Wonders how she’s meant to respond to such a thing. In any case, she decides to let him keep some pride and shakes her head. 

“It’s not for you, Billy, it’s for me,” she fibs. “You’re heavy.” 

The second part is true but he’s still taking enough of his own weight to keep her from being overwhelmed. 

“Oh.” He blinks, the defensiveness melting from his demeanor. “Okay, fine.” 

By the time they reach his room, she thinks she would’ve gotten overwhelmed soon after all. Billy looses steam so rapidly she’s almost dragging him. It leaves her a bit winded. He peels himself from Susan like a bandaid and folds to the bed. She hovers uncertainly for a moment, unsure if she should help him get adjusted. Pull the blanket back for him or flip the pillow. She decides better of it, self-consciously knitting her fingers together and slinking her way to her chair. 

Billy glances to her as he settles in. 

“Hey.” 

“Hm?” 

“Those couple days I don’t remember, did I, uh, say anything weird?”

“Not that I recall,” Susan answers. “You didn’t say much of anything, really. Slept through most of them.” 

“Alright…” 

“Was there anything in particular you had in mind?” 

“Nah, just wondering.” He looks away. 

Susan gets the sense Billy’s calmer than he was earlier. Maybe the walk successfully soothed some of his restlessness or maybe he’s just too tuckered out to give her an attitude. Whatever the reason, Susan prefers the awkward pauses to being yelled at. 

“You going to hang out here all day?” 

Susan nods. 

“And tomorrow?” 

“I’d planned on that, yes.” 

He clicks his tongue. 

“Thought of anything you might want me to bring you?” 

Billy combs a hand through his hair, scowl twitching on his lips when his fingers snag in the tangles. “Some of my cassettes? I’m officially over the quiet.” 

“Of course, but promise me you’ll keep the volume modest, okay?” She can’t imagine anyone would appreciate him blasting heavy metal through the ICU. 

Billy nods agreeably. 

“Anything else?” 

“Nah. Thanks, Susan...for earlier too.” 

That catches her off guard. She offers a tentative smile that Billy regards tiredly before blinking away from. He picks up the remote from the bedside table and clicks the wall-mounted television on. After some channel surfing, he lingers on this documentary special about marine life, dolphins bursting up from the blue waves on the screen. 

“This good with you?” he asks. 

Susan isn’t sure what surprises her more. The fact that Billy’s apparent program of choice is some nature show over some slasher flick or creature feature, or the fact that he’s actually asking for her input. 

“Oh, sure,” she chimes. “I love the ocean. It’s the most mysterious and beautiful place there is.”

Billy hums a soft noise in his throat and lowers the remote. He lies back and nestles his cheek into the pillow, eyes on the screen but face tilted toward Susan. Maybe she should try not to let it mean too much to her. They can have another decent afternoon today and maybe one tomorrow too, but Billy will come home eventually. When that happens, Neil will be there and normalcy will resume. 

**Author's Note:**

> i played as the demogorgon in dbd over the wknd and it made me think abt stanger things again. so. here's this. maybe one day i'll watch the show.


End file.
